


The Chocolate Addiction

by dirtydeedsdonedirtcheap



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 02:23:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9214685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtydeedsdonedirtcheap/pseuds/dirtydeedsdonedirtcheap
Summary: Remus Lupin's chocolate addiction has gone too far.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling, everything you don’t recognize belongs to me. The steps mentioned are actually real and come from the organization overeaters anonymous.

** The Chocolate Addiction **

To understand my story we must start from the very beginning. I’m not going to bore you with every unnecessary detail because I don’t have that much time.

 

So, here it goes…

 

I was born on a very brisk… _oh_ , I’m just joking! We don’t need to go that far back but I _do_ need to explain why one James Potter is currently shoving me to my death. I’m dramatic. Deal with it.

 

Anyway…

 

All McGonagall wanted was a quiet lunch. Let’s begin with that.

 

She didn’t want to be bothered by her students. Her day had barely begun and she had already given six students detention (you tend to know these things being a Prefect and all). She had also owled Peter’s parents twice (James and Sirius had once again ‘accidentally’ blown him up like a balloon… _twice_ ) and the other Professors were getting on her nerves.

 

Don’t ask me how I know that. I just _do…_ and no matter what anyone else says I do _not_ have a crush on McGonagall. I _don’t_ …just because I stole her knickers one time…

 

Anyway…

 

Without a second thought to the detention slips she needed to hand out or the lunch she was supposed to be having with the Headmaster, McGonagall eagerly gripped her shimmering emerald robes and hitched them up so she could walk at a quicker pace.

 

(And show a bit of much needed skin…cough…cough…)

 

She ignored the looks that she was receiving as she whizzed through Hogwarts, running towards the staircase that leads to both the Hufflepuff Common Room and the kitchens.

 

Smiling like the angel that she is, she halted, standing in front of a portrait of fruit and tickled the pear for entrance to the kitchens. As it squirmed and giggled, a green doorknob appeared.

 

Her shoulders relaxed as she quickly turned the knob and entered the kitchens, waiting for the House Elves to greet her. Instead of a greeting, all the House Elves, in their dirty pillowcases, were still at their stations, staring in awe at one student who was kicking off his trousers (that fit him _very_ nicely and complimented his bum) much to McGonagall’s dismay.

 

She almost shrieked in terror and _nearly_ fell to the floor. Her stomach felt queasy (alright, maybe I’m adding my own flavor to the story…maybe her stomach didn’t actually feel queasy…maybe she didn’t _actually_ hike up her robes and run through Hogwarts…a bloke can dream) as she silently hoped that the student was _not_ a Gryffindor.

 

She watched, rooted to her spot as the boy with golden brown hair shook up and down as if getting ready to start sprinting (he was warming up). He stretched towards the floor, clapped his hands together and removed his standard black school robe. He was left wearing nothing but his underpants (which had big red hearts scribbled on them…he’s obviously very stylish) and black socks (he has very skinny ankles and is embarrassed by them).

 

McGonagall watched in horror as the boy pumped his fist in the air and then quickly started running towards a vat that seemed to be filled with… _no_! It couldn’t be! She had to be seeing things!

 

She removed her spectacles (according to one alert House Elf) and rubbed her tired eyes. As she placed them back on the bridge of her nose, the boy jumped straight into the vat of delicious milk _chocolate_.

 

(Excuse me while I drool…)

 

He squealed and he laughed, dunking himself several times and slurping the dark liquid that surrounded him.

 

Finally, after much struggle, McGonagall moved her left foot forward and then her right foot, walking slowly towards the unknown boy and his vat of chocolate.

 

She watched him attempt to float on his back while trying to slurp the liquid. Her anger reached a new high and the vein in her forehead began to throb as she eyed the boy dangerously.

 

“Mr. Lupin!” she shouted, gripping the side of the large silver vat. “What do you think you’re doing!”

 

I thought then (and I still do) that she really wanted to jump in and join me. I mean, who doesn’t like chocolate? In shock, I cursed and struggled to stand in the pool of chocolate as McGonagall stared at me with an expression so terrifying I nearly soiled myself.

 

“Having _dessert_?” I said, cupping my hands together to scoop out some of the rich chocolate. I held my hands out as a peace offering to my semi-attractive Transfiguration Professor who stomped her foot in response and gave me a look of repulsion.

 

“Get out,” she demanded, “ _now_!”

 

The anger in her voice still haunts me. Defeated, I swung one leg over the vat, dripping all the way to the Headmaster’s office.

 

-x-

 

So now, here I am with James shoving me towards utter doom. After I had cleaned myself up and got a month’s load of detention (and a Howler from my parents) I was being forced two days later to sit in…well…

 

I have to sit in an _Overeaters Anonymous_ meeting.

 

(Cue the shudders.)

 

I woke up this morning with owls pecking my face and the sun blinding me and screamed, causing Sirius to shout something that made me blush and James to get up to question if I was having another chocolate nightmare. Ever since McGonagall found me swimming in chocolate I’ve been dreaming of chocolate that has spoiled and mutates into some sort of animal that wants to kill me.

 

That does _not_ mean I have a problem.

 

It’s normal.

Completely normal.

 

…Anyway.

 

After getting the owls to stop pecking my face (I didn’t have my chocolate mask on. I think they were inspecting to see if I was indeed Remus Lupin.) I grabbed the pieces of parchment they were carrying and told them to ‘shoo.’

 

Too bad they don’t make chocolate covered owls.

 

(Yeah, I went there.)

 

Hands shaking slightly, I opened the first letter and frowned at what I was reading.

 

_Follow my instructions_ – _P.P._

Who was P.P? What sort of sick joke was this? I ignored the letter and threw it to the floor, only to rip open the other one.

 

My stomach grumbled and I wondered if I could slip off into the kitchens and get some chocolate covered oatmeal without anyone knowing but my hunger quickly diminished as I read the next letter.

 

_Due to recent events, please come to the abandoned classroom on the fourth floor for the first session of Overeaters Anonymous._

  * _Headmaster Dumbledore_



I dropped the letter to the floor and groaned loudly (forcing James to chuck a pillow at my head and Sirius to threaten me) as several terrible thoughts filled my head.

 

I would never get out of Overeaters Anonymous alive. I would have to live a chocolate free life and instead eat something like grain or asphalt.

 

Or worse.

 

_Vegetables_.

 

(Cue the second set of shudders.)

 

Vegetables are _supposed_ to be drizzled with chocolate! I don’t care what my parents say. It’s completely healthy. Chocolate has flavonoids and what do vegetables have? Nothing important I can assure you. Who needs nasty vitamins in their diet? Who needs a boost of fiber? So what if my digestive system is a bit wonky. My insides are filled with chocolate.

 

None of that is important. What _is_ important is my current status: craving chocolate and extremely cranky.

 

-x-

 

“This is a complete misunderstanding!” I shout, clutching James’s shoulder, “don’t make me go!”

 

He groans and tries shaking me off but it doesn’t work. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

 

“It’s not going to be that bad, Remus. Just _go_. You have a problem. I know it, Sirius knows it, McGonagall knows it…even _Dumbledore_ knows it. Just listen to what they have to say. Maybe,” James says softly, trying to reason with me, “it’ll help you.”

 

In response I scowl and remove my hands from his arms and eye him darkly. “Fine!” I shout moodily, crossing my arms against my chest. “I’m just going to prove you wrong!”

 

James grins and shoves me roughly inside the room, shouting, “Have fun!”

 

The door slams loudly behind me and I grumble, dragging my feet like the angsty teenager I am.

 

I swear, this year for Christmas I’ll let Padfoot do a bit of his business outside of Prongs’ bedroom door.

 

I grumble a bit more as I eye the room suspiciously. I don’t care if I’m in Hogwarts. I don’t care if the person overseeing this group is Headmaster Dumbledore. I _don’t_ have a problem. I don’t belong here with the ‘others.’ Contrary to popular belief I’m not addicted to chocolate. I just enjoy eating it as often as possible…everyday…every _hour_ of the day…

 

“You’re new,” a voice whispers next to me.

 

I don’t bother acknowledging the person. Instead, I walk deeper into the room, towards a circle of six wooden chairs that are waiting to be filled. The only other person that is sitting down is a small boy—looks like a first year—with a Hufflepuff badge on his robes and a sunken, lifeless expression on his face.

 

Sitting down next to him, I’m ready to mentally list off things I would rather be doing then sitting here. I would rather be gnawing Peter’s hangnail, giving Severus Snape’s hair a shampoo and even taking Sirius for a ‘walk.’

 

“Got any pie man?” The boy next to me questions, left eye twitching slightly.

 

I cringe, giving him a repulsed look. Pie? _Disgusting_ , unless of course it’s chocolate pie that he’s looking for. His mouth waters at the mention of pie and I worriedly shake my head ‘no.’ I’m almost afraid to say no.

 

_Almost_.

 

Gritting my teeth, I sit in my seat waiting impatiently for the Headmaster to show up. This is all McGonagall’s fault. She’s just too nosy for her own good. If only she had turned around and left the kitchen my life would have been running its normal course. Instead of sitting in this stuffy abandoned classroom I could be in my dormitory relaxing on my bed with the red hangings closed and sniffing a chocolate frog.

 

(And then biting its little wiggling head off.)

 

On the other side of me, another boy takes a seat and shakes his leg impatiently. “Psst!” he whispers from the side of his mouth.

 

I avert my eyes from him quickly, not wanting to engage in conversation. He’s a freak and I’m _normal_. I’m the only normal person in the room, which is not rare considering who my mates are.

 

(Note to self: Make new friends. Preferably ones that enjoy eating chocolate.)

 

“Psst! Remus!” he whispers again, jabbing my side with his elbow.

 

Yelping, I slide down my chair and hang my head, trying my best to make it appear like I’m asleep even though my eyes are open. Maybe if I start to close them really slowly he’ll leave me alone. I can’t believe he (whoever _he_ is) knows who I am. I thought I was wearing the perfect disguise. Instead of wearing my standard school attire I have on a red Muggle baseball cap and normal Muggle clothing.

 

Maybe he’s a Pureblood and wants to say something witty about how I’m dressed. Maybe he likes the taste of cotton fibers in his mouth and he wants to lick my white t-shirt.

 

Good grief, I’m going insane.

 

The other chairs are quickly starting to get filled. Everyone that inhabits a chair is shaking slightly or scratching him or herself, waiting eagerly for Dumbledore to arrive.

 

Again, the mysterious boy next to me elbows me and hisses.

 

“What!” I yelp, turning my head and glaring at him. He rolls his brown eyes and gives me a wry smile.

 

“Moony, it’s _me_ ,” he whispers.

 

At the mention of ‘Moony,’ I turn my head away from the mystery bloke to see if anyone else has heard him but they’re all in their own little world. Turning my head back to the mystery bloke I can’t quite figure out who he is.

 

He isn’t Sirius because this bloke doesn’t have the long black hair that he’s growing out. He isn’t James because he’s not wearing any spectacles and I sincerely doubt he’s Peter.

 

“It’s Peter,” he says, confirming my suspicions.

 

I knew all along. Seriously.

 

(Shut-up.)

 

Ah! _P.P._ Peter Pettigrew.

 

I eye Peter apprehensively. He’s under ‘disguise.’ I’m pretty sure he nicked James’s Quidditch trousers because they have a ‘property of James Potter’ label stitched on the waistband. He’s wearing a Muggle t-shirt that I _know_ belongs to me (because for one it’s a bit too tight on his body and it’s covered with chocolate stains) and for some odd reason he has on a long red wig topped off with a pointy black wizards hat.

 

I think he’s trying to be a male Lily Evans.

 

How did I _not_ realize it was Peter?

 

“What are you doing here?” I ask, leaning closely towards him. It’s not like we _have_ to whisper. The others are all in their own shaky world.

 

“Mum thinks I have a problem with cheese…and every other food out there,” he mumbles, patting his belly, making it jiggle slightly.

 

“So this is where you go when we’re always looking for you?” I ask, scratching my nose and then smacking his hand away from his stomach.

 

Peter has some weight issues that are really all in his head. The boy can eat but he isn’t large by any means. He just doesn’t know how to properly…accentuate his...err…assets.

 

He bites his lip as if debating his answer and then shrugs. “Sure.”

 

It explains _a lot_.

 

“But you’re a _rat_ —“

 

“And you’re a _cat_ —“

 

Repulsed, I lean back in my chair, ready to elbow him in the ribs. “I’m not a bloody cat,” I mumble angrily.

 

Werewolves are part of the _canine_ family. I’m not going to tell him that though. The last thing I need is for Sirius to buy me a matching blue flea collar.

 

Peter grins and chuckles, leaning back in his chair, teetering on the back legs.

 

“I thought we were using metaphors. I don’t have a cheese problem and you don’t have a chocolate problem. Do you?” he questions.

 

It’s odd but Peter is actually being smart for once in his life. He’s using his brain. I’m _so_ proud.

 

“Get me out of _here_ ,” I plead, biting my lower lip.

 

Before he can say anything Dumbledore decides to grace us with his presence, flitting into the room wearing bubblegum pink robes with lemon drop accents.

 

“I can’t Remus,” he says quietly, casting his eyes downwards. “Do you think I would be here if I could? Just sit back and listen. The quicker Dumbledore thinks you’ve accepted everything, the quicker you get to graduate. I would have already if bloody Dorcas hadn’t found me munching a piece of cheese…”

 

I don’t say anything as Dumbledore takes his seat and twirls his wand, shooting pamphlets at everyone. His blue eyes sparkle behind his spectacles and he gives me a knowing look. I’m not sure what he knows but it’s unnerving me.

 

Opening the pamphlet, Peter gives me a warning look and mumbles ‘don’t do it.’

 

But I _must._ There’s a small part of me that _wants_ to know what all the fuss is about.

 

Staring at the pamphlet, I’m greeted with:

 

**Have you ever hidden food under the bed, under the pillow, in the drawer, in the wastebasket or the cupboard so you could eat without anyone seeing you?**

**Welcome to OA!**

He knows! And I thought I was being discreet.

 

(Note to self: Remove chocolate that is hiding under my mattress, inside my pillowcase and in my sock drawer.)

 

I do not understand what this power greater than myself that some of these steps talk about. Does Dumbledore mean Merlin? Didn’t Merlin enjoy a bit of chocolate every now and then? Didn’t Merlin fight with King Arthur and Guinevere and indulge in a bit of chocolate rat (or ye old chocolate vermin, because they made everything sound much fancier back then)? Am I supposed to make a potion or get down on my knees and beg him or whoever else to release me from my chocolate addiction?

 

Dumbledore is painfully dramatic. He could use some chocolate; especially with the abysmal lemon drop robes he’s wearing.

 

Cringing, I turn towards Peter who is giving me a nervous look and gulps. “What do I do?” I ask.

 

He doesn’t respond but nods curtly at me and I put my attention back on Dumbledore who is beginning the meeting.

 

“Who would like to go first?” he questions, eyeing everyone in the circle.

 

I meekly raise my hand while staring down at the blue and white pamphlet. There are twelve steps for overeaters to follow for recovery. Just twelve steps I have to follow convincingly enough so I can go back to eating my chocolate.

 

“Mr. Lupin?” Dumbledore says, blue eyes burning into my skull.

 

Groaning, I rise from my chair and clasp my hands together nervously.

 

“My name is Remus Lupin and I’m an overeater. I’m addicted to chocolate,” I say loudly.

 

Peter better be right about this. Then again, the last time I followed his directions I ended up without any eyelashes for a month.

 

But I digress.

 

“You see…all McGonagall wanted was a quiet lunch,” I say; gulping nervously and nodding at an encouraging Dumbledore, ready to tell the story of my chocolate addiction.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I just want to clarify that I’m not trying to poke fun at OA and anyone that has such a problem. I am actually reading up on it to find out actual information on OA meetings. Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought in a review.


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